


Reach

by Shearmouth



Series: I Wrote This When I Was 15: Old FF dot Net fics [2]
Category: The Guardian (2006)
Genre: Epilogue, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, spoilers for the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shearmouth/pseuds/Shearmouth
Summary: He'd heard stories, of course, about the Guardian, about mariners in distress who, when their hope had failed them, were visited by someone who kept them alive and on course before vanishing when they were no longer needed. Jake had just never thought it would happen to him, or that his Guardian would be Senior. Spoilers, obviously.
Relationships: Jake Fischer (The Guardian) & Ben "Senior" Randall (The Guardian)
Series: I Wrote This When I Was 15: Old FF dot Net fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559170
Kudos: 7





	Reach

**Author's Note:**

> This movie freaking killed me when I first saw it. I needed to write this for some closure. Old fic.

It had never been quite this cold, or this painful.

Even back in A School when Senior had tossed them all into a tub full of ice water and explained to them, in detail and with their own bodies as examples, the different stages of hypothermia. Because back then, he’d been on land, with his classmates, his naivety, his pride. Back then, he’d had Senior.

It was colder, Jake found, when you were alone.

Another violent shiver racked his body. Good, he was still shivering. His body was still trying to keep itself warm, though he was starting to lose feeling in his hands and feet. Jake scanned the darkening sky, though he knew it was a futile effort. The chopper wouldn’t be back for at least another three hours. He curled into himself further, trying to preserve what warmth was left. At least they’d tossed him a life raft, and he’d activated his EPIRB. They would find him. They’d have to find him.

What state he’d be in when they did, that was the big question.

Jake sighed, knocking his head against the yielding floor of the raft. How exactly had he ended up here again? Floating alone in the Bering Sea, with night coming on, and the early stages of hypothermia setting in? Oh, right, because even after transferring to the Hatteras station in order to be closer to Emily, the universe had decided to conspire against him. An unusually tight and violent group of winter storms had been raking down the Bering Sea for the last month, and the Kodiak station was overtaxed. Several swimmers on leave, including him, had been called up to help. This was his fourth case in five days. A fishing vessel had foundered in the massive swell and called a mayday two hours away by helicopter from Kodiak. They’d flown out, he’d gone in and gotten the five crew off safely. They were lowering the cable back down to him when the vessel started to crack in half and lurched violently. The basket became tangled in the rigging.

All Jake could do was watch as the winch crew was forced to cut the cable before the chopper and all aboard were dragged down with the sinking vessel.

Then he’d leapt and started swimming as fast as he could away from the wreckage. When he was clear, the crew threw him a life raft. “We’ll come back for you! Activate your EPIRB! Hang in there, Jake!” Then they were gone.

Which was how found himself at the last place on Earth he wanted to be–on a raft, in the Bering Sea, in winter. When he could be back home, still technically on vacation, in sunny, relatively warm North Carolina with Emily.

Although, if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t because of missing Emily, or even the cold, that was the real reason he had never wanted to come back to Kodiak.

_The basket and wire got fouled in the rigging…just like that night…maybe that’s how the cable became so frayed. It couldn’t hold us both…_

_It’s your fault, you know._

_“You gotta let me go! You gotta let me go down there!”_

Jake squeezed his eyes shut against the memory, but the howl of the salty wind and the familiar pitch of the angry seas beneath him was making it harder for him to suppress what he normally buried so well.

Well, Senior had his, when he was still alive. Jake wondered how he dealt with the nightmares. Had he had ones like this? Ones that sent Jake back every night to the one place his conscious mind refused to go, forcing him to relive it again and again until he sweated or screamed himself awake, and found his way to Emily at his side, or, when he was at the outpost on duty, to the edge of the sea. Or on the darker, harsher nights, the nearest bottle.

Coming back to Kodiak, Jake knew he couldn’t deny it any longer. He wasn’t dealing. He did his job, and he did it well, and he saved lives, and he loved it. But he wasn’t dealing, _couldn’t_ deal with Senior being gone. With Senior’s life in his fingers, until the other swimmer reached up and with the utmost calm undid the strap on his glove…

Jake snarled and sat upright. The heaving gray back of the Bering Sea went on beyond the horizon, which was growing quickly less pronounced as the sun disappeared behind it. The hissing crests of the huge swell around him seemed to laugh. _I took him,_ the Sea whispered within his mind. Jake could swear he actually heard voices within the waves. _I took him, and I can take you too._

Jake lay down again, feeling sick. He wrapped his arms around his knees as the sun fled the sky and night fell completely.

It was a race now. A race, between the crew coming out to get him, and the hypothermia. Jake curled into a tight ball in order to conserve body heat. And he waited.

Time is different in the ocean. Time is linear, but water is not, so time becomes fluid, sloshing backwards and forwards against the seawalls of the wind. That’s how Jake felt. The wind was picking up, and it became fully black. He had a flare on his jumpsuit, but he wanted to save it until he heard the whapping of chopper blades…

Were they coming? Were they going to leave him out here, to die, to become one of the countless ghosts that walked the floors of the Bering Sea?

In a distant, rational portion of his mind, the part so galvanized by training that it remained somehow still untouched by the elements that were currently killing him, Jake realized he had stopped shivering. He couldn’t feel his arms, clutching each other around his knees, or his legs up to his thighs anymore. That same rational part remembered his training, learning about the stages of hypothermia. _First you shiver, then you stop and lose function of your extremities as your blood moves to keep your vital organs alive. Then you want to go to sleep. When you do, you’re probably not waking up again._

So he had to stay awake. _Stay wake, Jake._ But he was becoming so very tired, and that irritating little rational piece was growing quieter by the second, and why should he keep fighting anyway. He had lost so much already, even though he had saved so many lives. He felt himself slipping off the edge of reality, his consciousness retreating into the cooling confines of his mind. Jake felt a stab of fear.

He was going to die. Slow, cold, and alone, just like they said. But he’d signed up for this, and he’d done his job. He’d saved every soul aboard that boat, except his. He was okay now. He could rest.

Yet all he felt was a piercing sense of loneliness. He knew this was how he was most likely going to go, but now that he came down to it, he didn’t want to die alone. Maybe if he died here he would see his team again. He could tell them he was sorry, tell them in person, not tell it to the air like he had for the last nine years, hoping they’d hear it. He could tell Senior too…finally he could tell him…

“Tell me what, Goldfish?”

Jake’s eyes snapped open. It was still so dark out, but he had heard that. More than that, he felt the raft dip beside him as someone’s weight pushed the air inside down. He wasn’t alone.

A flare glowed to life. Jake touched his suit where his flare was attached, and it was still there. Not his. The owner of the flare set it casually between a pair of feet in the middle of the raft like a candleholder. Jake’s gaze traveled up from the feet to a pair of legs up a lean torso to a face he was sure he’d never see again.

“Senior?“ he whispered.

His former chief smirked. “Something tells he you’re not willing to give up and head to the hereafter just to tell me my previous title, kid.”

Jake lifted himself onto one elbow. Senior was leaning peacefully against the side of the raft, elbows on the edge despite the roiling surf beyond. He was still dressed in his jumpsuit, but his hood was off, and he looked at healthy and at ease, like he wasn’t being batted around at night in a life raft on the Bering Sea. Although, now that Jake thought about it, he couldn’t really feel the pitching of the raft anymore…

“Well, Jake?” asked Senior. “You gonna leave me hanging? Say what you want to say, cause I’m here now, kid.”

Jake curled up again, exhausted, too tired to keep wondering why Senior was here. So he just talked. “You died for me,” he muttered. “You died so I could make it into the chopper. You fell almost a hundred feet, and you died alone, and you died for me.” He stared at his hands. “I don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness, but I’m sorry, sir. Jesus, I am so sorry.” Jake shut his eyes again, not wanting to see the accusation on his mentor’s face. 

Senior sighed in exasperation. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Jake. You and your goddamn guilt complex. Look at me. Come on, sit up.” Jake complied, moving to lean against the raft next to Senior. He didn’t feel quite so tired anymore.

Senior gave him the shut-up-and-listen look he’d used to such great effect back at A School. “You’re right,” he said flatly. “I died so you didn’t have to. That cable was a second from breaking. We never would have both made it up before it snapped. But that wasn’t your fault, Jake.”

Jake was silent. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

“Look at me, Jake,” Senior said again. Jake met his eyes. There was no accusation in the other swimmer’s face, just a tired fondness. “Did it never occur to you that what I did was a choice? You can’t keep blaming yourself for my death, kid. I did what I did and I don’t regret it. It’s not your fault, it never was and it never will be. You’ve gotta let it go, Jake. You’ve gotta let _me_ go.”

“I can’t,” said Jake, his voice breaking. It just hurt too much. He’d take the hypothermia pain over this, which, weirdly, he couldn’t feel anymore. His very soul hurt, and he couldn’t help but ask himself how many more he’d have to lose of the people he loved. “I can’t, Senior. I don’t know how.”

“Then you better figure it out, Goldfish,” growled Senior with sudden vehemence. “Because if you don’t, you’re going to end up just like me.”

“Like what?” asked Jake.

“Like dead,” said Senior. “Guilt will kill you, kid. Guilt is a distraction, and you can’t afford distractions in this job. You know that. I taught you.” Jake said nothing.

Senior sighed. His shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked very tired. “Though, I can’t really talk. I blamed myself for my team’s death, and I blamed myself till the day I died. But what I’m saying is Jake, _I do not blame you for my death._ I hold you at no fault. It was my choice, and you did your damndest to keep me from carrying it out. And I am grateful to you for that, kid. Even though you were being stupid.”

Jake felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Jake,” said Senior seriously. “I forgive you. There’s nothing _to_ forgive. I want you to promise me you’re going to stop blaming yourself for what happened. I’m still not your priest, kid, but I think since I’m the guy whose death you hold yourself responsible for, a pass from me is pretty valid, yeah?” 

A great weight seemed to break away from Jake’s heart and dissolve. For the first time in over a year he felt like he could breathe freely. “You’re sure?” he dared to whisper.

“Have you ever known me to be a man of indecision, Jake?” deadpanned Senior.

“No, sir.”

“Then yes, damn it, I’m sure. Promise me, Jake. Promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself.”

It felt like the salt air was blowing all the way through him, sweeping his heart clean. “Aye, aye, Senior Chief,” he said, grinning.

Senior rubbed Jake’s crew cut. “Don’t give me that look, Goldfish,” he chuckled. Jake playfully whacked his hand away before the smile slipped from his face.

“Senior?” he asked.

“Yeah, kid?”

“I can’t promise I’ll can let you go,” Jake said, looking back down at his feet. The red glow of the flare cast everything in a foreign, eerie light. “I never got to tell you this before you died, but…I was in a bad place before I came to A School, and you helped get me out of it. I had been so focused on becoming a swimmer, of saving lives, it took you to help me see that all I was doing was running away. Er, swimming away, I guess.” Jake bit his lip uncomfortably. “You showed me the way out, Senior. You helped me find my road again. I owe you bigtime. That’s not the kind of thing…you can’t leave that kind of mark on a person and expect them to just forget about you when you’re gone.” His eyes stung, and it wasn’t from the salt.

Senior was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not asking you to forget me, Jake,” he said quietly. “No one wants to be forgotten after they die. I am asking you to learn how to keep going without having me around. You can do it functionally. You’re still saving lives, doing your job. I heard you went back to Emily and now you’re out at Hatteras; that’s all great stuff. But I know you’re having nightmares, flashbacks. That’s not something that happens to someone who has moved on.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “How can you tell me to move on? You’re gone. You’re never coming back. And I wasn’t…I still needed you.” _I still do,_ he thought.

“Jake,” said Senior, sounding half resigned and half peaceful, “the trick isn’t forgetting. The trick isn’t even moving on, really. It’s just…moving. You just have to keep moving. You have to figure out how to keep going on your own. It’s not about forgetting the people you lost. It’s about forgiving them. You have to forgive us for leaving you behind, Jake, or you’ll never find peace. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, alive or dead, it’s that. Keep us in your heart, in your memories, and think of us when you need strength. We’ll be there when you need us.”

Jake’s eyes pricked with tears. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, almost desperately.

Senior half-smiled. “Do you still trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then trust me now. Move forward, Jake. Just keep moving. Honor your past, and don’t forget us. But keep moving, and keep swimming. Hold on to yourself. You’ll find the way, kid. You’re gonna be okay.”

Tears cut through the salt on Jake’s cheeks. “What if I can’t?”

Senior gave him a condescending smirk. “Goldfish, if you can survive my training at A School, you can do this. You can keep going. When you lose hope, go to the ocean and look at the horizon. It’s what I used to do. Good for seasickness, and for a lot of other things too. It always helped me clear my head.”

The flare sputtered, and Jake felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic, but Senior just calmly reached into a Velcro pocket of his jumpsuit. “Here,” he said, handing Jake a fresh pack pack of his favorite Wintergreen gum, the kind he’d given Jake that day on base, the kind Jake carried with him all the time now. “I know you’ve run out.”

It was true; he’d been chewing the last piece of gum from his most recent pack when he went in the water today. He didn’t ask how Senior knew, just took the pack and slipped it into his suit so it would stay dry. “Thanks,” he said. “It does keep the sea out of your mouth.”

The flare sputtered again and nearly went out this time. “Hey Senior?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Am I dying?”

Senior paused. “That’s up to you, Jake.”

The flare hissed and began to go dark. On an impulse, Jake reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Senior’s jumpsuit. “Don’t leave.”

The flare went out, and as it did, Jake’s limbs suddenly grew very heavy. He slid down into the raft again, curling in to a ball but keeping hold of Senior’s sleeve. He needed to know he wasn’t alone.

Jake’s world started to slip away. There was a rushing in his ears, and he thought he heard someone in the far distance calling his name…

“Don’t worry, kid,” Senior said, dropping an arm comfortingly onto Jake’s shoulders, even as his voice began to fade. “I’m not going anywhere.”

•••

Salt.

That was the first thing Jake noticed. His mouth tasted like the entire salt content of the Pacific had crawled out of the ocean and onto his tongue. He cracked his lips open and tried to lick them, but his mouth was too dry. He moaned.

“Jake?” A familiar voice drew him out of the pain. “Jake, can you hear me?”

“Wa–water…” he rasped. He couldn’t find the strength to open his eyes.

“Hang on a sec.” He heard a clinking to his left, and then someone was spooning delicious wet coldness onto his swollen tongue. Ice chips. He sighed in relief as the pain lancing through his mouth and down his throat began to fade.

He blinked slowly. He was in the hospital, judging by the sterile whiteness of the room and the faint smell of disinfectant. His elbow ached faintly from an IV drip, and monitors beeped out his vital signs behind him. A dark-haired woman was sitting next to him, holding a Styrofoam cup and a spoon. “Helen?” he asked.

“Good to see you awake, Jake,” Senior’s ex-wife said, smiling. “How do you feel?”

Jake blinked again and looked at the ceiling as it all came pouring back. The cable snapping, swimming away from the wreck. Crawling into the life raft. The darkness, then…Senior was there?

No way. Senior was dead. He must have been hallucinating from the hypothermia. Jake pushed down the stab of pain as he thought of the “conversation” he’d had with his former teacher. It had seemed so vivid, so real…he could recall every detail. And he felt better somehow, like a weight had been taken off his soul.

“Jake?” asked Helen again, jolting him back to reality. “You with me?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, sorry, just…been a long day at the office.”

“A long couple days actually,” said Helen. “You’ve been out for the last two. You were unconscious and severely hypothermic when your team found you. You’ll need to stick around for a few more days, but should be fine.” She patted his knee gently and placed the ice chips within his reach. “I’ll be nearby. You rest for now, Jake. I’ll be back with the doctor in a little bit. Press the call nurse button if you need something.” She rose.

Jake closed his eyes and sank back into the pillow, spent. “Thanks, Helen.”

“Of course.” He heard her begin to walk out, then pause and turn back. “One more thing. Your teammates were in here earlier. They said they found this in your jumpsuit and you might want it when you woke up. Andrew wasn’t sure where you got it; you said you’d run out just before you jumped. ” Jake opened his eyes.

In Helen’s hand was a full pack of Wintergreen gum.

Two weeks later, Jake was sitting on a dock on the outskirts of Kodiak. He was flying back to North Carolina the next day. He’d been out of the hospital for the past week and was helping out where he could at the Kodiak base, but his commanders wouldn’t let him back in the water for at least another month. It was frustrating, knowing there were people out there who needed his help and he was stuck on the ground, but the winter storms had started to let off in the Bering Sea as the season began to change. No longer needed at Kodiak, the reserve swimmers were heading home. And he still technically had three weeks’ worth of vacation time left to spend with Emily.

Jake leaned back, weight supported on his arms, his feet swinging over the icy water. The lingering fatigue from exposure and hypothermia was beginning to lessen, but he was still feeling kinda drained. This was the closest he’d come to dying since getting trapped in the boat, and he’d been really, _really_ lucky. The doctors were surprised he lived at all, with the amount of time he’d spent exposed. Three hours in the Bering Sea in winter without a Gumby suit should’ve killed him. They were amazed he’d made it.

Frankly, so was Jake. But he knew why he’d managed to hold on.

He hadn’t told anyone about his visit from Senior, not even Emily over the phone. She was normally the only person he trusted with this kind of thing, but for some reason he’d wanted to keep it to himself.

He’d heard stories, of course, about the Guardian. Stories about mariners in distress who, when their hope had failed them, were visited by someone who kept them alive and on course before vanishing when they were no longer needed. Jake had just never thought it would happen to him, or that his Guardian would be Senior. But he no longer wondered if what had transpired that night had actually happened. He knew it was real. He remembered every word of their conversation, the promise he had made to his mentor.

And besides, he had solid proof.

Jake pulled the pack of Wintergreen gum out of his pocket and ran his fingers over the salt-gritty surface. He’d kept it in his pocket every day since Helen had given it to him in the hospital. He closed his fist around it and looked out over the pancake ice dotting the harbor, beyond the entrance, to the horizon.

Senior said the flat line where the sea met the sky was good for more than just seasickness. As the cold sea breeze cooled the healing windburns on his cheeks and flowed in his lungs, waking him up and charging him with the energy of the ocean, Jake found he was right.

The sun was setting. He had to be getting back soon, and pack for the flight home. But there was one more thing he had to do.

Jake stood and opened the pack. He carefully unwrapped a piece of gum and rolled it into a ball.

He looked at the horizon again. “On me, sir,” he said, before tossing the gum into a hole in the ice.

The wind gusted briefly, suddenly warmer, friendlier. Senior’s voice came back to him.

_It’s not about forgetting, Jake. It’s about forgiving._

_But don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere._

Jake smiled. “Don’t worry, Senior,” he said, looking to the horizon again, reveling in its promise of a journey, reaching for the future. “Neither am I.”


End file.
